I arched an eyebrow. “Probably about the same as I do considering we’re coordinating designs in several of them.”
“Are those…?” His attention focused behind me. “You’ve already started?”
He shuffled past me like I had invited him in and inspected my finished cookies, scooping up the ruined one and taking a bite.
I gestured to the tray. “Help yourself, Mr. Grimm.”
“What do you put in these?” He mumbled around a mouthful. “I’ve tried everything and can’t replicate the flavor or the texture.”
“I mix love into every batch,” I repeated Mom’s favorite spiel.
“Your mom doesn’t know how to stir up anything but trouble.” His snort almost made him choke. “Wonder if that’s how she ended up married to a conclave marshal?”
“Believe it or not, Mom was shopping at a gas station when it got robbed, and Dad was the first officer on the scene. He took her statement, she slipped him her number, and the rest is history.”
Okay, so there was a teensy bit more to their story. But Daryl was a witch, and the last thing I wanted our first real conversation to be about was elven mating rituals. Particularly ones involving my parents.
“Oddly enough, I have no trouble believing that.” He glanced around, soaking up the spread of cookies in progress covering every available surface. “Why do you let her get away with calling this place Lookie’s when you’re the one working the oven every day?”
Mom had hung up her apron for good. Working in the kitchen had never agreed with her. Too much heat and, well, work. She much preferred being the face—and name—of the bakery. Two things I had no interest in. As a team, we worked. Who was I to break up a good thing?
“Mom’s dream was to run a successful bakery.” I shrugged, not willing to divulge those secrets to the evil spawn of Mom’s nemesis. Her words, not mine. “My dream was to be a successful baker.”
“I get that.” He braced a lean hip against the counter. “Mom bakes like a house on fire, but she can’t decorate to save her life. The last time I let her roll out fondant for me, it ended up looking like chunky vomit. I’m still not sure what was in those lumps.”
We shared a laugh, which startled us both into silence.
“I should get back to work.” I cleared my throat. “I have three dozen left to decorate before I call it a night.”
“My cakes should be cool enough for me to apply the crumb coat by now.” He stopped in front of me and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Guess so.”
It wasn’t until after I locked the door behind him that I spotted the coiled replica necklace he’d left as payment for the cookie he’d eaten.
Smiling, I put the gift in a small tin hidden in the top drawer of my desk before returning to the task at hand.
Chapter 2
The next morning Mom was as mad as a hornet after learning Mr. Dross had taken my advice to heart and commissioned a cake from the Grimms.
“It’s like you want them to win.” She threw up her hands. “You do realize these contracts keep our doors open? We can’t survive off foot traffic alone.”
“This is the same speech from last week.” I massaged my sore joints. “Can we skip to the highlight reel this once?”
“Millie.” She sighed my name. “I didn’t want to tell you this until after the wedding season was over, until I knew for sure, but… There’s a good chance that we’ll have to close our doors without this contract.”
“What?”
“Four of the restaurants stocking our cookies have canceled their orders. They can’t afford specialty baked goods right now.” Her shoulders drooped. “Three others have cut their usual orders in half, and we’ve lost two more clients to Grimm’s and those darn lemon pound cakes.”
I sank down onto the barstool I used while decorating. “I had no idea.”
“I’d hoped the bridal orders would tide us over, but being flush three months out of twelve won’t pay the bills forever.”
Understanding dawned, and I regretted every ugly thought I had aimed in her direction for the past few months. “That’s why you pushed so hard for Mr. Dross’s rush order.”
“Yes.” She rubbed her arms. “Grimm’s has a wider selection, and diversifying is keeping them afloat. Cookies are your passion. I didn’t want to press for a new menu until…” She shook her head. “Then, just when I thought we’d landed the Dross account, Bernadette sashayed in here and told me it was down to them and us, and that Dross would choose them if he had any taste.” She huffed the silvery wisps of her bangs from her eyes. “I lost my temper. Forgive me?”
“It depends.” I tossed a broken cookie at her. “Can you resist the urge to volunteer me for anything else until I clear our backlog?”
Mom was about to speak when the bell over the door in the lobby tinkled, announcing we had a customer. Smile in place, she rushed out to perform her favorite part of the job only to dart back in a second later with her hands aflutter.
I got to my feet. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mr. Dross. He’s early.”
“It’s all right,” I soothed her. “I finished his order last night.”
“Thank heavens.” Relief pinked her cheeks. “Show me which boxes. I’ll take half, and you can bring the others. I’m sure he’ll want to praise you in person.”
Boxes in hand, we exited the kitchen and stacked his order on the counter. I had withheld two cookies as samples and placed them in cellophane bags tied off with coordinating red bows. I passed one to him and one to the attractive woman at his side. Judging by their matching jewel-toned eyes and jaundiced complexions, I was guessing they were related. Siblings perhaps. Made sense considering he was picking up an order for family.
“How darling,” she cooed. “Though, no offense meant, dears, I much prefer the Grimms’ cake. Those settings were exquisite, the gems so authentic I could swear I was looking at the real thing. Mumsy is sure to love it best.”
Ignoring her claim, Mr. Dross unwrapped the cookie and took a bite. Bliss rolled his eyes closed. “You are entitled to your opinion, sister dear, but I believe Mother will prefer her shortbread even to the Grimms’ masterpiece.”
“We shall see.” She sniffed then turned her wide eyes on me. “I must say, your little cookies are not without their charm, and Mumsy does favor the simplistic.”
Mom’s teeth made a grinding sound our guests ignored.
“I wonder if you could do a small favor for me?” The woman drew a heart with her finger on the counter. “My engagement party is tomorrow night. Do you think you could whip up twelve dozen cookies that resemble this?” She flashed a rock as large as a walnut at me. “I prefer the Grimms’ more elegant style myself, you understand, but Mumsy isn’t as soft on my darling Gerald as I should like. Perhaps, if she likes the cookies as well as my brother seems to believe, they will soften her toward him.”
Oh, only twelve dozen. In twenty-four hours. What was it with these two?
“I’m afraid—” Mom began.
“—we’ll need to take pictures of the ring,” I finished for her.
Ms. Dross was all too eager to thrust out her hand and spread her fingers while I pulled up the camera on my phone and snapped a few reference photos.
The pair left the shop wearing matching smiles and slid next door, where I was sure the Grimms would muster up the same fake enthusiasm in order to butter up the Drosses.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” Mom pressed a hand to her chest.
“The ring is a classic emerald-cut solitaire. I don’t think it will be too much trouble. I’ll call in Sue and Beth to get cracking on the backlog while I knock out these.”
Beth was a part-timer due to her college schedule, but the girl was a lifesaver in a pinch.
The day passed in a blur of mixing, cutting and baking. I stayed long after the store closed, enjoying the solitude while I pu
t on the final touches. I was piping a delicate accent when a single knock on the door brought up my head. After a second’s consideration, I let the icing accidentally leak over the edge then pushed the cookie away from the others and went to greet my visitor.
A haggard-looking Daryl greeted me, his five o’clock shadow more like full shade bristling across his hard jaw. “Rubies and now diamonds?” He didn’t wait for an invitation to come in. “Jewel thieves don’t see the kind of gemstone action I’ve gotten the last two days.”
“It’s your own fault,” I chastised him. “You made such an impression on Ms. Dross with the ruby necklace cake, she had to have one of her own.”
“Pretty sure this is all still your fault.” He located the botched cookie, a hawk locked on its target, and swooped down on it. “If you hadn’t wowed Mr. Dross with your cookies, then I wouldn’t be up to my eyeballs in enough sugar gems to give a diabetic heart palpitations just from looking at them.”
“I bet your mom’s thrilled.” I poured milk into a clean measuring cup for him, and he didn’t bat an eye, just drank it down like my choice in dishware was totally normal, and maybe it was for folks like us. “Mine’s over the moon.”
“Yeah.” Eyes downcast, he took a long drink then bit into his treat.
Sensing his discomfort, I shifted topics away from our parents and back onto safer ground. “My fingers are killing me.” I flexed the stiff joints. “You?”
“Fingertips for me.” He turned his hand over and exposed his pinkened skin. “Burns from handling the isomalt while it’s still nuclear.” He rolled his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s necessary to pop the stones out of the molds while they’re still malleable to get the look I want.”
“That looks painful.” Somehow his hand ended up in mine, and I slid my thumb over the pad of his tender fingers. “Can I get you some ice?”
“Nah. I’m used to it.” His long, elegant fingers closed around mine. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
“We bakers have to look out for each other, right?” I hoped the condensation on his hands from the milk glass masked my own damp palms, one of which he still held. “Do you plan on giving that back?”
“Give me a minute.” Slowly, he began rubbing each individual digit. “How’s that feel?”
A moan slipped past my lips. “Where did you learn this? From all that modeling chocolate you sculpt?”
He laughed softly. “No. I had a dog with arthritis. The vet taught me basic therapeutic massage techniques to ease her pain.”
I cocked my head at that. “Am I your first human patient?”
“Yes.”
“What made you think the same technique would work on me?”
“Mostly,” he admitted, fingers lacing with mine. “I wanted an excuse to do this.”
I stared at our joined hands, baffled. “Why?”
“I like you.”
I blinked as though seeing him for the first time. “You never said…”
“I thought you hated me for a while. Then I figured it wasn’t me but Mom who gave you fits. And then I decided it wasn’t Mom but your mom who put the fear of God—and boys with the last name Grimm—into you.”
I gave a tug on his hand, but he held firm. That really ought to have bothered me more than it did. “And now?”
“Now our bakery is fighting to stay in the black, and I don’t know how much longer I have to convince you I’m more than the sum of my last name.”
A knot formed in my throat. Grimm’s Design was struggling too? I ought to have felt good about that, for Mom’s sake. Now I had to wonder if Bernadette’s visits hadn’t meant something altogether different than Mom thought. Maybe she had wanted someone to commiserate with or talk strategy. Maybe she wanted a friend but had no one to turn to that would understand except her enemy.
“I never hated you.” My voice came out whisper-soft. “You were so talented, I was intimidated. I’m so 2D, and you’re third dimension over there. Your work is amazing. I wasn’t blowing smoke up Dross’s pant leg. I meant it. You’re a gifted artist.”
A slight flush tinged his cheeks. “You mean I could have been dating you all this time if I’d had the courage to speak up?”
“Well, you would have had to ask, and I would have had to accept, but sure. It’s possible. Why didn’t you?”
“You’re you,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You’re beautiful, smart, kind and crazy talented. Plus, I’m addicted to your cookies, and yes, I know how bad that sounds.”
“You never come in and buy them. How are you getting supplied?”
“Tangier’s Grill.” He flashed a sheepish smile. “I buy a dozen off Tangy once a month.”
“Okay. Confession time.” I screwed up my courage. “Do you remember that pansy cake you made about three months ago? White chocolate icing and raspberry filling?”
“Yeah. I had to call in a friend from culinary school to help me figure out the basket weave technique for the icing.” His eyes rounded. “That was you?”
“Twenty-seventh birthday gift from me to me.” I winced. “Mom has no idea. I served the cake at my party with friends so there would be no awkward explanations.”
“You really are a Grimm groupie,” he teased. “If I had known that was yours, I would have delivered it myself. And hoped maybe you’d invite me in for a slice.”
A pleasant warmth unspooled in my lower stomach. “I might have been persuaded.” I reached up and ruffled his pale hair as my fingers had itched to do the night before, the silky strands sliding through my fingers. “At least until you cut you hair. I liked it better long.”
His smile lit up the room. Oh boy. Now he had me. I had admitted to admiring him from afar too.
“I should get back to my cake.” He made no move to leave. “The gems should be cool enough to set now.”
“I have more work to do here too.” I made a vague gesture in the direction of the unfinished cookies and stood. “As soon as I get my hand back.”
“Go out with me.” He let me keep the advantage of height over him for perhaps the first time since I’d known him. “There’s a musical opening next week I think you might like.”
The bubble of excitement at his offer fizzled. A whole week?
“Are you pouting, Millie?” His soft chuckle warmed me. “How about a counteroffer, since I know we’ll both be slammed at least that long making up for the hoops the Drosses have us jumping through?”
“I’m not pouting.” I totally was. I tipped up my chin. “What did you say about a counteroffer?”
“Let’s promise to be exclusive.” He grinned as my eyes rounded. “Me and you, lunch. Every day for the next week. Then, if you decide you prefer my confections to my company, you don’t have to see me again.”
“I can do that,” I found myself agreeing without a twinge of remorse. I couldn’t even find it in myself to worry about what Mom might think.
“Good.” He leaned forward, still on my level, and kissed my cheek. “Starting tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I echoed, regretting the loss of his big, warm hand. When he withdrew, a weight sat upon my left hand’s ring finger. The door closed as I lifted the sugary diamond ring to admire in the light. “The man has style,” I had to admit. “I’ll give him that.”
Chapter 3
Morning had me rubbing my eyes and rolling my neck to ease the tension from hunching over trays of cookies all night. Mom bustled in with a paper cup of my favorite breakfast tea before heading out to man the front counter, and I chugged it while wondering if Daryl had time to finish his masterpiece or if he would be blinging it after breakfast. That was when it hit me. I didn’t have his number. I really ought to remedy that.
“Are you punch-drunk from lack of sleep?” Sue elbowed my side. “Your eyes are closed, but you’re smiling.”
I dodged her next ribbing. “I met someone.”
“How?” She pulled up a stool beside me. “You haven’t left the bakery.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Unless…” I started to sweat, but then she pointed out a shipment of fondant still in the boxes. “Did I miss a hot delivery guy? Dang it. I always miss the yummy ones.”
I didn’t tell her she was wrong. Hiding my sudden like for Daryl seemed prudent, at least until the Dross contract was settled.
Thinking of the diamond ring and ruby necklace in my desk drawer, I couldn’t help but feel smug. “Sorry, Sue. This one’s all mine.”
While I settled into icing a batch of dog-shaped cookies for the local Bark in the Park fundraiser, Sue set about taking orders and putting away the supplies Mom had likely signed for without inventorying.
I was getting creative with Dalmatian spots when I heard Mom gasp. “What are you doing here?”
Dropping my piping bag, I darted out of the kitchen and rushed the front counter. “What’s going on out—?” I skidded to a stop. “Oh. Hi, Daryl.”
Flour dusted one cheek, and his fingers were rainbow-colored when he held out his hand for me. “You ready for lunch?”
I cast the kitchen one last glance. Usually I didn’t leave. I ordered in or, more often, skipped all together.
“Daryl Freakin’ Grimm,” Sue wheezed from a crack in the door leading to the kitchen. “I always said one day all the oven fumes would go to your head.”
“He’s taking me to lunch. It’s not a proposal.” Though he had technically given me a ring…
“Millie.” Mom fluttered her hands at her throat. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I like Daryl.” The man in question puffed out his chest behind her back. “I want to get to know him better.”
She caught my arm and dragged me down to her level. “What if it’s a trick?”
A pang of disappointment sliced through me. Of course, she would think he was only interested in me for the contract... The one his mother needed with equal desperation to mine.
Sprinkles.
Daryl had never once visited me prior to the night Mr. Dross decided to play us off each other. Did he really like me? Or was he putting the moves on me now to distract me from the prize?
Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales Page 5